


If You Ever Loved Me (Have Mercy)

by Hcpelesshcney



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Angst, Bets, Breakups, Canon Divergent, F/M, First Breakup, First Heartbreak, First Kiss, First Love, First Relationships, Fluff, Getting Together, Heartbreak, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Relationship Problems, Run-On Sentences, Slow Reveal, breaking up, canon typical arguments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-04 21:31:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18352103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hcpelesshcney/pseuds/Hcpelesshcney
Summary: Blue Sargent's first real relationship was with Richard Gansey, though she's loathe to admit it now. Her first real heartbreak was with him, too.





	1. The box

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Daniel Handler's "Why We Broke Up." Because evidently I'm a sucker for breakups and not-quite-love letters.

~~_My_ ~~

~~_Dear Gansey_~~

_DICK,_

I never did like calling you that, but Henry did. Does, Henry,  _does_ call you that, and really, right now, it seems awfully fitting.

In a minute, there is going to be a crash. It’ll be right on the steps of Monmouth, right on the other side of your apartment door. That crash is this box that I’m holding right now, and I hope that it makes the frame rattle when it lands on the ground, just a little, because it holds so much weight inside, even though it isn’t all that full. What’s inside is important, because all of the time we spent together is there. Or, all of the physical representations of our time together is. Whatever. I don’t care about logistics, and I’m beyond sure that you don’t either. Just know that everything in there is worthless to me now.

 

But back to the box being left. I’m leaving it at your door, hiding like a coward in the middle of the day, because I know if I tried to drop it off any later than right now, you would see me and probably invite me in, because you’re just chivalrous like that, and then everything would be weird and awkward and worse for the both of us than it already it. So I’m dropping this off right now, when you’re sure to still be at school. Like I said, it’ll probably rattle the house, it’ll probably catch Ronan’s attention from where he’s no doubt cooking breakfast even though it’s past noon. The bastard is probably just waking up, and I love him for it.  I have no doubt that he’ll look at the pan on the stove, the sunny-side up eggs he makes every day hissing and popping away. He’ll debate whether or not to go check the door, just for a second, before he leaves sets the pan to a burner that’s not on and goes to check the door. And I know he’ll check, because he hates leaving things in the front of the house. He told me that, one of the times when it was just me and him at Monmouth for a while. Something about not wanting to give thieves a chance to fuck around with whatever was out there.

 

He’ll go and look and drag the box into the open space you call a bedroom and leave it there beside your stupid recreation of Henrietta for you to find. I know you won’t be the person to open the door, Gansey, because you never are. You’re going to be sitting in that posh-ass boarding school of yours, learning about calculus or Latin adverbs or whateverthefuck else it is that Aglionby teaches you spoiled rich kids. And I know that you’ll be bored out of your mind, because you never did like classroom learning, but Ganseys don’t get to choose anything else, do they? Not the sons, anyway, who are expected to graduate from boarding school with top marks, and then go to a prestigious college and graduate from _there_ , too, as valedictorian or something, I’m sure. Gansey sons are meant to go on to take over the family business and lead boring, rich lives, marry stick-thin model blondes and raise prestigious rich brats who secretly loathe their parents just like any other kid. I never did fit into that picture, Gansey, and we both knew it. I think, on some fundamental level, we both knew it. That’s why we didn’t, why we _don’t_ work.

 

It’s a beautiful day, all warm breeze and sunshine, the sort of day we would have spent downtown, window shopping and sharing an ice cream cone. Or at least, that’s what I _thought_ we would be doing, if we’d made it this far. It’s not the right weather for what I’m doing right now, or, what I’m about to do I guess. It’s not the right weather for a break up. Well, a post-break up break up. It should have been pouring rain when I did this, just so that you would have to deal with the sopping wet box all over your hardwood floor, but it’s mid-May now, and the sky is bright blue, and the air is so warm. And I can’t hold onto this anymore, Gansey. None of it. So that’s why I’m doing this. For me, not you. That’s why I’m writing this letter, this whole unfiltered truth. And the truth, Gansey, the truth is that I loved you so goddamn much. And I shouldn’t have, just like every other girl who’s undoubtedly loved you. But I did, and I was worse off for it.

 

This is what I’m leaving you with, Gansey. I found this box in the attic, half-filled with dusty St. Patrick’s Day decorations my mom hasn’t put up since I was seven. I moved all the decorations to a different box, then went straight to my room, throwing everything you’d ever given me into it because they had become too difficult for me to keep in my bedside drawer. Part of this was because I couldn’t stand knowing that I could so easily take these things out and put them back on display again. But mainly I needed a way to keep everything away from my mother’s prying eyes, because even though she does it with the best intentions, I can’t deal with having our whole mess of a situation thrown back in my face. Not anymore. So everything went into this box, and then this box went into my closet, on the top shelf that isn’t used for anything. Every last trinket from the love I thought we shared, the knick knacks and debris and inbetweens of this relationship. This box is the glitter left in the gutter after the parade is all said and done. I’m dumping this box back into your life and straight out of mine. I’m dumping this box, but really I’m dumping you. Just like you did me, when you tore out my heart and ground it into the dirty Henrietta sidewalk for everyone to see.

 

This letter, Gansey, is the icing on the cake. This is me, bearing my heart again, even though I got hurt last time. See, you already had my heart to begin with, Gansey, in a way I never thought anyone would ever have it. And here it is again- all ripped up and forced onto this paper. You don’t even deserve this letter, really. But I’m giving it to you anyway. Because I can’t deal with this anymore. Take it, this box and this letter and all the pain you’ve caused, take it back right now. I never want to hold it again.

 

I loved you, Gansey, but I’m done. When the ink dries on this page, I will be totally, completely done. Like that one movie Adam dragged us to back in November, the weird French film that went completely over your head. You probably don’t remember, because you hardly remember anything that isn’t related to your damned Welsh king or whatever political campaign your parents are going through, or, hell, even dragging Ronan through the mud to keep him enrolled in a school he never attends, Gansey, but there was one scene from the movie that really parallels us right now. It was towards the end of it, when the main actress had just emerged from an alleyway a few blocks away from the building she’d set on fire, and as she watched a band of firetrucks race towards the scene, she smiled. Look at my handiwork, her smile said. Go admire how the ashes of that awful place represent me being freer than I’ve ever been, her smile said. The building was our relationship, Gansey. That smile, wicked and cold and lipstick red, that’s me. I’m sure even with my explanation the comparison has gone right over your head. And that, Gansey, is why we broke up.


	2. Chapter 2

When I was young, my mother used to say, “Blue, anything that’s worth it won’t come easy. If it does, there’s a good chance it’s not really worth it.” When you came crashing into my life, Gansey, it wasn’t easy. And I think that’s why I let myself be fooled for so long. 

For a while after we broke up, I hid myself away in my room. Which, like my mother told me a few times when she would bring up a sandwich for me to pick at while she smoothed her hands through my hair, was a very un-Blue Sargent thing for me to do. I didn't know how to respond to that, actually. Because at the point my mother had found me, I wasn’t all that sure of who Blue Sargent even was anymore. I felt like I got caught up in your glow, Gansey, and I lost myself in the process. I am still pulling pieces of myself back into being.

Right now, I’m sitting in the front seat of Henry Cheng’s car, and I hope knowing that piece of information drives you crazy. The engine doesn’t thrum beneath our feet quite like the engine of The Pig would, but it’s still enough of a buzz to shake the words I’m writing, and really Gansey it’s your own problem to try and decipher what I’m saying. You used to be so good at putting words into other people’s mouths, surely you can figure out what I’m saying. 

I called Henry early this morning, and before I was even able to speak, he said, “Finally.”

“What do you mean  _ finally _ ?” I was sitting in the Phone/Sewing/Cat Room on a mountain of pillows, holding the landline between my shoulder and my ear while I scooped up a dollop of lemon yogurt. 

“Well you’re giving Gansey boy’s stuff back, aren’t you? That’s why you called?” 

I had sat quietly for a moment, spoon hanging from my mouth, because Henry had really hit the nail right on the head. But I didn’t want him to know that, I didn’t want to think that I was  _ that _ knowable. I said, “No, Henry. What if I just wanted to talk? To say hi?” 

The rush of air on the other side of the line was enough of a laugh as I’d ever heard from him. “Blue, you never want to  _ just  _ talk.” 

“Okay, yes, fine, I’m giving Gansey his stuff back.”

“Good, Blue. I’ll be right over just—where are my keys?” 

“Probably still in the back pocket of your jeans, from last night.” 

“Oh!” a jingle of metal against metal as Henry found his keys. “Are we sure you’re not psychic?” 

I had to laugh at that, Gansey. Because I’m not psychic, not like the rest of my family. Henry is just really predictable. And I was there when he traded his painted-on jeans for a pair of grey sweats instead because we were binge watching the new documentary that was airing on the history channel. 

“I’ll be there in ten minutes, I’ve got my keys.” The sound of a door shutting takes over the way my breath had started to break up. “Are you okay, Blue?” 

“Yeah, fine.” 

“ _ Blue _ .” 

“God, fine, no, Henry I’m  _ sad _ .” 

“It’s okay to be sad, Blue.” 

“Not for this long.” 

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I can’t stop thinking about how things were supposed to be different, Henry. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.” 

“I know.” 

“He used to be so _good_.”

“I know, Blue.” 

“ _ God _ .” 

“Five minutes, Blue, I promise. I’m almost at Fox Way.” 

“I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have to drive me. I just—Mom and Orla took the truck into town for groceries and this box is too heavy for my bike and I—” 

“ _ Blue _ , you’re fine. It’s fine. And of course I have to do this for you.” 

“You don’t.”

“Yes I do.” 

“Why?” it came out as a sob, raw and broken. Even after all this time, it’s still difficult for me to understand that Henry’s charity is not demeaning. 

He sighed, and the sound cut through the speaker, too loud for how close it was to my ear. I was staring at the top of the box that held all of your shit, heart aching over the fact that once I got rid of it, then things would really just be over. I wasn’t sure if I was quite ready to give everything up, especially that worn down sweater from Scotland that I stole from you a few months ago, because it’s so cozy and really I think I deserve at least  _ one _ thing good to come from this. But I can’t keep it anymore, not even if it’s been worn in just right. I’ll miss that sweater, Gansey, but I will not miss you. 

“I need to do this,” Henry had said “Because you need someone in your corner right now, and besides, my keys were right where you said they would be. It’s practically fate.” 

Henry is so good, Gansey. A genuinely good person. Even with a loveless family like his, he still cares about everything so damn much. He still cares about _me_ so damn much. That's more than can ever be said about you again. I wish that I had met him first, Gansey. But he came after you. Everyone always does. 


End file.
